


Love Among the Cornfields

by ghostlands



Category: Stardew Valley (Video Game)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-04 08:17:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6649777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghostlands/pseuds/ghostlands
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Shane's a total dork. Talk to me about him (and maybe Flip) on <a href="http://www.teldrassil.tumblr.com">my tumblr!</a></p></blockquote>





	Love Among the Cornfields

It’s 11:00 when Shane makes it home, expecting to crash in bed and forget the world for a little while, but instead, on this clear, cool night, he finds himself at the docks with Jas.

Her tiny shoes are next to him, along with his. Jas is only tall enough where her toes barely touch the surface of the water, while when his own feet are submerged, the water reaches Shane’s ankles easily. But right now, he only has one foot skirting the surface, making small waves with slow strokes. 

“Why do you stay out so late?” 

Shane looks at her, and sits back. “‘Cause I want to.”

“Why do you want to?”

“I dunno. Why do I catch you playing outside at this hour?”

“Only sometimes!” Jas insists. “Not all the time.”

“Well, sometimes I come home early. Like tonight.”

“Not really.” She attempts to stretch her body, to submerge her foot, but Shane pulls her back with a light tug of her PJ shirt. He doesn’t want to deal with Jas getting messy before bed. “The only time I see you is on your days off. And you don’t get many of those.”

Which is true. But he needs money to support them both. Marnie doesn’t make enough on her own—most of her income comes from his rent, which he gladly pays if it means giving Jas (and the barn) a good life. He’s fine with a smaller room, a smaller lifestyle, and a shit paying job with limited free time if it means the remaining people in his family can live happily. 

Most of his unhappiness is due to himself, anyway. So many people have it worse. How he feels shouldn’t matter, because he’s a goddamn grown man. He can deal.

Jas slouches next to him and looks up at his face with a frown. “Do you think the fairies will come out?” 

Shane shrugs. “Maybe. Don’t they only come out if it’s been a happy year?”

“I dunno! You’re supposed to know. You’re an adult.”

“Adults don’t know everything,” Shane ruffles Jas’s hair, which elicits the usual high-pitched kid whine. His mouth quirks into a smile. “I guess we’ll see.” 

She ends up curled next to him, silent for a long period of time. The winds pick up, making the leaves bristle; he hears a familiar ghostly _whoosh_. 

“Happy new year, kiddo,” Shane murmurs.

—

Flip has a problem. A very, very big problem.

That problem is the farm. The farm from Grandpa’s note seemed like a dream—a nice plot of land, with plenty of space to invest in. A peaceful place away from the bustling city. A big, spacious, empty barn fit for receptions and weddings, tall silos, a great field of wheat! An absolute _dream_ farm.

But he didn’t know his grandpa very well, which was a consequence of his young adult life moving far too fast for him to keep up with his far-away relatives. He’d gotten letters, maybe the occasional picture (sometimes with him as a kid, playing in fields of corn, something he found highly amusing), but none of them warned him about the mess of the farm his sick grandpa had left behind. 

Flip didn’t even think to bring clothes that were fit for a farmer’s job. Most of what he brought were business shirts, sweater vests, and dark-wash jeans. The only relatively casual thing he owned was what he was wearing now—a sea foam casual dress shirt tucked neatly into his jeans, sleeves folded up halfway—and even that was overkill for the hard labor he’d agreed to take on. 

Had he expected to put his business degree to good use by coming here and taking over the farm? Maybe. But it’s fine. He could “use a little manual labor,” a direct quote from his mother. At least he brought good working boots.

—

Flip stands on the porch—his porch, now—surveying the land, with his hands on his hips. The trees look plentiful, which will be a pain. He was right about the large stretch of land, just sorely wrong about how easy it would be to clear it. 

And god, the weeds. So many weeds. And sticks! And rocks.

“Shit,” he says to himself.

—

Later, he looks like he rolled in a mountain of dirt, and took a dip in the trashed pond for good measure. His shirt is covered in splotches of soil and grass, his fingers are black, his fingernails have dirt under them, his hands are sore and blistered—but he manages to fill up a chest nicely with well-shaped rocks and wood. He ships everything else he finds. 

Admittedly, Flip doesn’t really know how much an acorn would actually be worth, but he foolishly hoped it would be worth something substantial when he tossed it into the bin. Maybe it would be sold at some sort of kitschy craft store. Or a high-end hipster deco store. A silver airbrushed acorn seems like the kind of thing that would sell.

It’s late, and he’s tired, but he hasn’t checked out the town yet. It shocks him how close by it is—and how quiet it is. Everything is closed except for the bar, which is fine by him.

And then the bar’s quiet, too. The lighting is warm and inviting, and there’s only a few people around. He doesn’t recognize anybody, which is to be expected, but the bartender seems to know exactly who he is.

“Come on in,” he says, digging a towel into a glass. “Haven’t had a farmer around in a while, glad you’re here!”

Flip walks towards the bar, running a hand through his brown hair—it’s a thick mess. He ends up pulling a twig out. “Could you tell?”

The bartender belly laughs. “Of course I can, kid. You need food? A drink?”

“Please,” Flip sits at the bar. There’s a guy with glasses and a mustache a few barstools away, looking more interested in the papers he’s reading than the presence of his messy mug. “Whisky.”

“All I can manage is beer, my friend,” the bartender clicks his tongue.

“You guys don’t get whisky here?”

“Just beer. Sometimes Pam brings in a bottle of rum and a can of Joja. That’s the full extent.”

“Huh.” Flip glances around. There’s a woman passed out on the bar, nursing a glass filled with a shockingly blue drink. “Beer, then. And whatever your special is.”

The bartender throws a towel over his shoulder and winks. “Beer from the tap and Tom Kha it is. Name’s Gus if you need anything else. Emily!”

A blue-haired girl runs up to the bar, bubbling with energy. “Yessir?”

“Beer for the farmer.”

“It’s Phillip,” Flip says. The bartender throws a thumbs up before leaving. Flip redirects his attention to Emily. “Or Flip.”

“Gotcha,” Emily says, making her way around the bar. “Phillip’s a nice name! And Flip has a positive energy to it, I like it.”

“My mom’s an Emily,” Flip says. “She goes by Em.”

“Aw!” Emily smiles. “That’s sweet. I just go by Emily. Boring, I know.”

She fills up a mug with beer and places it in front of him, sans coaster. The foam drips over the edge, making a mess, but on that first sip, Flip swears it’s the best goddamn beer he’s ever had. And maybe it’s the fatigue talking, maybe not. 

He shamelessly moans on his second sip. “Where’s this from?”

“Made in-house,” Emily says. “We don’t have it often, though. Maybe once or twice per year, typically during New Year’s.”

“Right,” Flip says. “Huh.”

“You came just in time for a new beginning!” she points out. “How’s the farm?”

“A mess,” he says.

Gus comes back with a piping hot bowl of soup. Flip digs in as soon as it’s placed in front of him, burning his tongue, and absolutely not caring because this is goddamn good, too. He’s going to end up being a regular here, he’s sure.

“Makes sense. Your grandpa stopped working for a while.”

Realizing he should at least pretend to be good-mannered, Flip slows down and blows on a spoonful of soup. “Did he seem sick?”

“He didn’t have to _seem_ sick. We all knew once he stopped working. He never liked to settle down.”

Which fits both what his parents said about him, and what he could infer from his letters. Suddenly, Flip feels a pinch in his gut—a twinge of guilt for not engaging with his grandpa as much as he could have. Grandpa put so much effort into their relationship, and rarely got anything back. The best times they had together were when Flip was a kid, running around in the fields—and that’s only something he remembers from pictures, not from his own memories.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Flip manages to say. It’s weird, apologizing for the loss of your own family member—but both Gus and Emily nod solemnly.

“Thanks, kid,” Gus says. “Sorry for your loss, too. He was a great man.”

“I didn’t know him for long,” Emily says, “But he was a sweetheart.”

Flip thanks them, and finishes off his soup. Gus brings him a basket of homemade bread, too, which Flip empties way too quickly—he’s going to have to get used to eating a ton in order to make up for hard labor he'll be doing.

“I guess Shane’s not coming in tonight,” he hears Emily say to Gus, when they're putting away dishes. She hands him a few clean mugs, and he puts them on a nearby shelf. “Shame he’ll miss out on Starbrew at the rate it’s selling.”

Flip knows that’s directed towards him, because he’s halfway done with his third beer. “This is my last one,” he says.

“Oh! No, It’s not a problem,” Emily corrects. “He doesn’t really care.”

“She just likes to look out for him,” Gus teases.

“He’s just lonely!” she says. “Everyone deserves to feel special. And if that means saving some Starbrew for him, then so be it.”

“He come here often?” Flip asks.

“Almost every night,” Gus says. “He drops by to unwind and get a little social time in.”

“He’s not social at all,” Emily adds. “He didn’t talk to anybody when he first moved here. Haley tried to say hi once and he completely ignored her.”

“That’s rude,” Flip says, frowning over his last sip of beer.

“He’s not, though! Not really,” she says. “He’s just a loner.”

“You’ll see him around if you come by again,” Gus says. “Your meal’s on the house, by the way. As a town welcome.”

“Hey, thanks!” Flip grins, and then pauses. “Actually, can I add—”

“No.”

—

The acorns (and pinecones) end up giving him enough money to buy a few parsnip seeds from Pierre’s, surprisingly. Maybe his theory about chrome acorns holds up—but that kind of business isn’t enough to get him where he wants to be on this farm.

Which… he has no idea about. It turns out that dropping everything to manage a run-down farm doesn’t give him a lot of time to decide what he wants the farm to be. He figures it’s fine, because the farm is still a mess, and he needs to wait on the parsnips to tell him whether or not the soil’s still good for growing. 

He knows his grandpa preferred corn. And wheat. He might’ve had a few goats? Maybe a cow?

But then again, taking care of animals seems to be a huge responsibility he isn’t sure he’s ready for, despite Robin’s insistence on building a coop. So Flip decides, for now, to stick to crops. And foraging. 

—

It’s been a week or so. The soil’s great—he has a ton of parsnips growing, and foraging is actually a pretty nice source of income (for now). He has a great number of wood bundles and rocks, and even a cat, too. 

He’s met mostly everyone. He hasn’t learned their names yet, though. The ones he actually remembers are Gus, Emily, and—oddly enough—Shane, someone he hasn’t even run into yet. 

Maybe because he hasn’t been back to the bar since the first night.

He decides to drop by, mostly to see Gus and Emily, and also to try to remember everyone else’s names. When he walks in, he sees the guy with the moustache and glasses, and remembers: Harvey.

Pam is in the same spot he saw her in last. He remembers Pam too, then. Leah—the woman with the cabin just below the farm—is here, too. Clint, Willy, Robin, and her husband… whose name is…

And the chain breaks.

Regardless, Flip tries to talk to everybody, including the kids over by the pool table—Sam, Abigail, and Sebastian. They’re all his age, but he senses a strange gap between them. Maybe it’s a small town thing. Or a big city thing. Or a goth thing. He doesn’t get it.

And then there’s a guy in the corner of the bar, sipping on a beer bottle. Despite the bar being cozy and plenty warm, he’s wearing a heavy blue hoodie. Flip sees the guy’s socks and five o’clock shadow and is immediately under the assumption that he doesn’t give a shit about most things.

“Hey,” Flip approaches him. “I don’t know if you know me, but—”

“I don’t,” the guy responds.

“Cool. I’m the new farmer, and I’m just trying to get to know everybody, so—”

“You don’t need to be talking to me.”

Flip raises an eyebrow. “Uh, I want to?”

The guy looks at him with a side-eye. “I don’t even know you.”

“My name’s Flip,” he tries, with an attempt at looking sheepish. 

The guy looks down, as if contemplating something, and then takes his foot off the wall. He puts his empty beer bottle and a bill down on the bar, and without another word, he leaves.

Well. Better schmooze the livestock seller for good prices, Flip decides.

—

It turns out that the guy’s name is Shane, he lives with the livestock seller (Marnie, he remembers), and he works at the local JojaMart.

Flip doesn’t even want to go there. Figuratively and literally. To be frank, he does not have high opinions of Joja. At all. 

There was this one time where his cursed curiosity couldn’t keep him away from stepping into the too-clean JojaMart. And then he sees Shane there, stacking the shelves with electric blue cans of soup, and he doesn’t even try to approach him. Instead, Flip leaves, ignoring Morris’s spiel about their loyalty program. 

Who the hell willingly works at such an evil company? Does working at Joja make you a dick? Or is that a job requirement now?

—

The next time they talk is at the Flower Dance.

Flip had never gone to such a thing before, but the food was delicious, the girls were pretty, the guys were snazzy, and everyone he talked to seemed to be in a good mood.

“Does everyone know this event’s about fertility?” he says, standing next to Shane. The guys and girls of the town are lining up, getting ready for the dance. He watches Abigail in the corner, throwing on her dress over her clothes. “As in getting it on?”

Shane does a little half-shrug, with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets. “It’s just a dance,” he mumbles.

“Everyone’s single,” Flip points out. “And ready to mingle, clearly.”

Haley’s making heart eyes at Alex. He’s pretty sure Sam has his eyes set on Penny. Sebastian and Abigail seem too likely to happen for his taste, but he can see them together.

“You get rejected by everyone?” Shane asks.

Flip laughs. “I didn’t ask Harvey. So technically, I didn’t get rejected by everyone.”

“That guy keeps telling me to eat healthier.” Shane says. “And get more exercise.”

“He keeps telling me to wash my hands,” Flip says. “It’s not even flu season.”

“No wonder he’s always at the saloon. No one listens to a word he says.”

Flip stands a little closer, casually tucking his hands into his jeans. “You get rejected, too?”

“No. Not my thing.”

The girls twirl; the guys step back, on-point with the music. “It looks fun. Have you ever been in it?”

“God, no,” Shane says. “I’m too old.”

“Too old? I participated in the easter egg hunt, no one’s too old.”

“They let you join because you’re new,” Shane counters. 

“Does that mean I’m not allowed next year?”

“Don’t ask me.”

This guy might have questionable morals, but Flip finds he doesn’t particularly mind talking to him. He’s got this city attitude that Flip is more than used to, and he can roll with it, no problem. He can set aside his judgements about Shane and make do.

Once the dance finishes, Leah—someone he finds he has a lot in common with—catches Flip’s eyes. She waves at him, and runs up in her dress. “Flip! I nailed it, didn’t I?”

“Totally!” Flip offers a high five, which Leah takes happily. “You gonna get it on with Elliott now?”

Leah laughs, a little too loudly, and slaps a hand on Flip’s shoulder. “What? Really? No way! Who said that?”

Flip looks to his side, but Shane’s already gone. So much for that.

“He’s only a swim down the river away, you know,” Flip jokes. 

“Shut up,” she says, grinning.

—

Summer comes, leaving Flip wondering how the hell a whole season managed to pass him by. By now, the farm’s coming along nicely, and he’s got a well-optimized routine that leaves him with both with a dispensable income and many, _many_ crops. Peppers, he finds, grow incredibly fast—so much that he always has a few in his backpack. 

They tend to be polarizing around the townsfolk. Some hate them, some like them, but then there’s Shane, who ends up loving them.

And that’s how he ends up carrying around a stash of peppers for Shane, along with leeks for George (he is not projecting), salads for Leah, and a hefty sack of amethysts from his recent trips to the caves for Emily, Gus, and Abigail.

—

It’s a mid-summer night, and he’s bruised, dirty, and exhausted. Despite getting his ass kicked in the caves the night before, Flip still needed to water _every single blueberry plant_ he had. Normally it wasn’t too big of a deal—more blueberries means more money—but his body was sore, and his energy was lacking, resulting in a job done in a day that should’ve been done in two hours.

He manages to drag himself to the saloon for a hot meal and a well-deserved drink. And with this exhaustion, he finds he doesn’t give a shit—he sits right next to Shane at the bar.

Shane doesn’t say anything, so he does. “Did you know slimes are real?”

It’s a stupid question, but Flip still finds it mind-blowing that slimes aren’t just from farmer fairytale stories. And they’re a pain to kill.

Shane puts his bottle down, and throws him a side-eye. “Wow. You _really_ don’t know much.”

“Sure don’t,” Flip says. He watches as Emily places a frothy, cold mug of beer in front of him. He takes a hefty sip, and wipes his mouth off with the back of his hand. “You ever go down in the caves?”

“Not really,” Shane says. “The first time I’ve been in a while was when I got you out.”

Flip coughs on a sip of beer, making a face. “What?”

“Uh, I found you passed out the other night,” he says carefully. “You don’t remember?”

The last thing Flip remembers from that night is waving his club wildly at a swarm of bats. And he was pretty far-gone at that point, too—who knows if that actually happened. But he _definitely_ remembers the bill he got in the morning. 

“You guys charged me an arm and a leg for _that_?” Flip accuses. 

“I didn’t,” Shane says defensively. “They did. Plus, what the hell were you thinking?”

“I was poisoned, I couldn’t think straight.”

“It was midnight. They got me out of bed to get you.”

“Shit,” Flip says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Shane sips his beer. “But I didn’t charge you for that.”

Flip senses some resentment. “Why the hell do you work there?”

Shane takes the last sip of his bottle and places it back down on the counter. “Can’t really work anywhere else,” he says simply. “And I need the money.”

“Marnie can’t employ you?”

“Hell no. She doesn’t make enough for that.”

Flip waves Emily down for another beer. “And one for him, too,” he adds, nudging Shane and leaning close. “My treat. For saving me.”

He swears he sees Shane’s mouth quirk into a half smile, but as soon as it appears, it’s gone. But Shane thanks him anyway, and throws him another quick side-eye.

“Is this a pity drink, too?” he says.

“Yeah, because you have to work at Joja.”

Shane snorts. “Cool.”

—

He and Shane are amicable, and that’s all he expects their acquaintanceship to be. Sometimes Flip drops by the saloon and buys him a beer, mostly to get him to talk. Flip appreciates his deadpan, self-deprecating humor, because even if Shane's a jerk, at least he's self-aware about it. And then Leah joins in, too, and on rare occasions it’s like a party, with Emily bringing round after round and Gus filling them up with pepper poppers and blueberry cobbler.

What he doesn’t expect is finding Shane at the docks and having something like a heart-to-heart, late at night. For one thing, Flip’s absolutely sure he’s about to pass out, and he’s fully intending on crashing as soon as he gets home, but then Shane sees him, and Flip feels a strange pull towards him, something he oddly doesn’t find himself resisting.

“Can’t sleep?” Shane asks once Flip approaches him, at the end of the dock.

Flip slips off his shoes and dips a foot into the water. He’s pleasantly surprised to feel that the summer heat keeps the water pretty warm, despite it being nighttime. “Actually, I was just coming back from the caves. I’d love to sleep.”

Shane uncaps a bottle of beer, and hands it over. “Since you’re here,” he says.

“Thanks,” Flip takes the bottle, settling on the edge of the docks. “What about you? Can’t sleep?”

“Nope.” 

They sit in silence for a moment, taking in the lake. The sound of frogs and crickets fill the air; fireflies roam around, providing just enough light to see the forest in front of them.

“Buh,” Shane grumbles, leaning back with a stretch. “Life.”

Flip holds up his beer, and Shane knocks his against it. Their bottles clink.

“You ever feel like no matter what you do, you’re gonna fail?”

“Sounds like my college life,” Flip quips.

Shane huffs out a laugh. “I didn’t go. Maybe that’s why I can’t climb out of this hole.”

“What’d you do, then? If you didn’t go to college,” Flip asks. 

“I lived in the city for a while,” Shane says. “Or nearby it. I did a lot of landscape work after graduating from high school.”

Flip laughs, taking a swig of beer. “I had a feeling you were a city guy.”

“Is that why you insisted on bugging me for weeks?”

“Probably.”

“I’m surprised you cared that much,” Shane admits. “No one’s super interested in talking to me.”

“You’re not the easiest person to talk to,” Flip points out. “I only tried so hard because I’m an idiot who loves a challenge.”

“Nice job, then.”

“Thanks.”

A beat passes.

“Your life doesn’t stop here, you know,” Flip says. “I thought my job straight out of college would be enough. I’d make a lot of money, and be happy with that. The money thing ended up being true. But I wasn’t happy.”

“Where’d you work?”

“Joja,” Flip says, looking back to shoot Shane a knowing smirk.

“No way,” Shane sits up. “And you gave me shit for working there?”

“Yep. I was probably the guy that sent shipments down to your store, too.”

“Fuck you, then.”

Flip grins at him. “I deserve it.”

Shane groans, and throws his body back against the docks. Flip turns to look back at him, and sees Shane looking at the sky, his hands on his chest. He can’t see very well, but he can see most of Shane’s features okay, like his jawline, and how far his five o’clock shadow reaches down his neck, and how surprisingly full his mouth looks.

Shane’s got that pouty look down pat. Most guys don’t have full mouths like that. That’s why Flip finds it so interesting—how had he never noticed it before? It gives Shane some sort of weird softness that Flip is… fond of, in a strange way.

Flip looks away when Shane catches him staring, and then goes on. “Anyway,” he clears his throat. “I wasn’t happy working there. It was soul-sucking. And I thought it was the end. But I had this chance, this opportunity in front of me, and something just… clicked. And here I am.”

Shane doesn’t say anything. 

Flip adds, “Right now, I’m on a path I had no idea I’d be on. And it’s super fucking difficult, and dirty, but _so_ rewarding. And I know something will come up for you. Something has to.”

“Not sure if it will,” Shane says. “Or if I’ll be ready for it.”

“You will be,” Flip says, mid-sip. “You’re not that much older than I am, right? Time’s on your side. And I think it would be a damn shame to let it go to waste.”

“I get what you’re saying,” he responds. “But I just don’t think it applies to me. I can’t think like that.”

“Why not?”

“I do the same thing every day. And it’s not because I want to—it’s because I have to. And I can’t break away from it, not anytime soon.”

“Are you really that financially burdened?”

Shane scoffs. “You think I’m lying? Marnie’s business isn’t doing well. We have no other source of income. I have—you know I have a goddaughter, right?”

Flip turns at that, shocked. “ _Seriously?_ ”

“It’s Jas,” Shane says. “Marnie does most of the parenting. Penny, too. I can’t—I have to—do you know how hard it is to have someone financially dependent on you? I’m her goddamn godfather, I should be helping to raise her, but I can’t, because I have to work. And by the time I’m done with work, I’m exhausted, and she’s already in bed. And I can’t even sleep. What’s the fucking point?”

For once, Flip doesn’t know what to say. It’s like every bit of negative assumption he has about Shane breaks, like glass, all in one go—and he doesn’t know what to do with all this information, he can’t process it. 

A _daughter_?

Shane sits up and rubs his face. “I wish I had the kind of freedom you do. I _really_ fucking wish—but I don’t.”

“I can help,” Flip offers. “I can—I can finally build that coop I’ve been meaning to build, maybe a barn, I can buy a ton of animals—like, a _ton_ —”

Shane just looks at him, an indiscernible expression on his face, and then he rubs at his mouth. “You shouldn’t do that,” he murmurs through his hand.

“Why not?”

“Buy animals because you want them, not to give us money. They need a lot of love.”

That is… _astonishingly_ sweet. 

“Are you—who _are_ you?” Flip says accusingly. “You are not who I thought you were.”

Shane snickers. “Probably ‘cause I’m drunk,” he says, looking down. He picks up his empty beer bottle, and fiddles with the paper label. “And because I try to be a little bit of a dick.”

“You’re a pretty huge dick,” Flip agrees. “But not as much as I thought you were.”

And _that_ —right there, that was a smile. Shane wasn’t looking at him, but it was there, small and subtle. “Shut up.”

“I’m glad I'm getting to know you,” Flip nudges him gently.

“I’m this close to pushing you into the lake,” Shane responds, and Flip grins.

**Author's Note:**

> Shane's a total dork. Talk to me about him (and maybe Flip) on [my tumblr!](http://www.teldrassil.tumblr.com)


End file.
